AN ~ Peter lives by himself in this fic.
Just To Be With You
-dutchtulips-
"You know what I came here for,
So I won't ask for more."
-- Mandy Moore, "I Wanna Be With You"
The TV was on, but he wasn't watching; the computer in his bedroom had been switched on, but he wasn't there typing at it; the radio in the kitchen was playing softly, but he wasn't in there listening. In fact, these things hadn't even registered on Peter Parker's radar. The entire living room, where he was, was dark, except for the bluish glow of the television set.
He had no lights on at all as he sat in a chair by the living room window, staring at the inky blue-black night sky, save for the TV and the faint illumination of the full silvery moon. Peter's eyes rarely even blinked; they were almost glassy. All he could do was just stare - stare out the window and into the nighttime yonder.
He felt so empty.
It seemed to Peter that his life had been reduced to this. Sitting by himself at night, alone with nothing but his painful, endless thoughts. He was so full of emotion, yet so incredibly empty. He felt enough energy to vault off every building in New York, but at the same time too weak to do anything but sit in his chair and stare out at the city.
Peter let out a sigh, the first sign of life he'd shown in nearly an hour. He doubted that anyone would be able to tell that he was there if someone were to walk into the dark apartment; that's how still he was sitting. But Peter felt as if he were drowning in his feelings of despair, unable to get his head above the current again, so what was the point of moving?
Despite the fact that he had barely moved an inch all evening, Peter's eyebrow arched slightly as he stared out the window, at the curtain of sapphire that was sky. Polaris was shining especially bright tonight, which Peter found interesting. As he fixed his stare upon it, the star seemed to twinkle right back at him.
"I tried," Peter heard himself whisper at Polaris, his mouth barely moving. "I tried so hard. . ."
He sat still in the chair again, continuing to stare at the star, drowning out the sounds of Pat Sajak and the Wheel, which were softly tumbling from the TV behind him, and the smoky evening jazz music from the radio in the kitchenette. All of Peter's focus was on the indigo nighttime sky outside his window.
Until he heard the tap at his door.
Peter almost thought it was his imagination; a strange, new sound mixing in the lightless living room? Surely not. After all, who could there be at the door, or anyplace around him? He was Peter Parker and the majestic Spider-man. . .cursed into the abyss of lonliness for all eternity. . .
The knock was a bit louder this time; demanding and anxious. The sound of someone's knuckles against wood wasn't a vast sound, but it roared in Peter's ears. It was a threat to break him out of this abysmal reverie he had been in all night, daring, telling Peter to wake and move.
He blinked and his hand twitched as the visitor knocked a third time, saying to Peter to haul ass out of his chair and answer the door. He blinked once more, and to his own amazement, began rising slowly from the armchair and padded for the front door.
In one swift movement, Peter had twisted the knob and swung open the door. And even though this action happened in a mere matter of seconds, the knowledge of who was there had swept him up like a tidal wave and Peter had the door opened before there was time to do anything about it.
Mary Jane stood at the threshold.
Peter stared at her, immediately feeling as if she didn't seem like herself. It was almost like she didn't look like herself, although nothing had really changed about her. Except something had. The last time he'd seen her, her face was contorted in saddness.
But it wasn't now. Mary Jane's expression was almost cold; her eyes, her beautiful eyes, seemed to have daggers for him. She didn't say a word to him. She just stood there, wrapped in her trenchcoat and clutching her purse. . .staring at him. Just staring at him.
Peter hadn't said anything either; he was taken aback by the way she was looking at him, like she was staring him down. He stared into her eyes as the two just stood there in front of each other, not even breathing a single solitary word.
And then it struck him. Mary Jane was mad at him.
Peter's breath went out of him in a soft whoosh, and his eyes softened as they looked back up at her. Mary Jane nodded ever so slightly, as if to confirm whatever Peter was thinking, her eyebrows raised.
He almost couldn't stomach Mary Jane being angry with him. But, Peter rationed, she had every right to be. Except that this was Mary Jane - the woman he loved with every fiber of his being, whether he showed it or not, and for her to be mad at him was something he didn't want to know in his life.
Peter almost couldn't believe what he was feeling, what, with the way he had been with her the last time they'd seen each other. And it occurred to him that the things he had said in the hospital had now truly sunk in. When you're looking into MJ's eyes, and she's looking back into yours. . .everything feels not quite normal, because you feel stronger. . .and weaker at the same time. . .
Peter's soft stare was still upon Mary Jane, and he dropped his shoulders at her cool gaze as if to say, "What can I do?"
Except that they both knew the answer to that.
Her eyes melted a little around the edges as he let his shoulders fall. Mary Jane's hands tightened around the handle to her purse, and she seemed to be fighting down the urge to launch herself into Peter's arms. He walked away from me. . .he doesn't want to hold me. . . And when despair took over Peter's face, it only led her to believe that her thoughts were confirmed.
Only, Mary Jane didn't know how wrong she was. When that look filled Peter's expression, it hadn't been because he didn't want her near, but because he did. He could feel from her that she was holding back from just diving forward and putting her arms around him. Peter didn't know what to do.
No tears were falling from either face; Mary Jane was past that now. The tears had died sometime ago, and this strong defiance had taken its place. She held her ground, staring Peter down with the expression she'd regained from before, trying to accomplish what the look had already succeeded in doing.
Weakening him.
When just minutes ago Peter had been staring out the window, with a rigid posture and a cold stillness in his eyes, there was someone standing before him now, giving him that exact same look he had given the heavens. What it was doing to him was something Peter couldn't believe to fathom. He couldn't look away, couldn't walk away. So he did the only thing he could do. He swept Mary Jane up in a smothering embrace, wrapping his arms tight around her torso.
She clamped her arms about his shoulders, resting her face into Peter's chest. Yes, this was what Mary Jane wanted; not to be giving him the cold stare, making him - in fact - feel worse than he already did. But had she accomplished what she had wanted to, by coming to just give him that look?
It didn't matter. Peter was holding her closer now than he ever had - because he needed her. Because love wasn't a choice, it had claimed him now and forever, regardless of whether he'd wanted it to or not - and pushing it away would leave him lonelier than any person deserved to be.
Peter needed her. And that was all Mary Jane wanted to know, or needed to.
el fin
"I wanna be with you, if only for a night,
To be the one who's in your arms, who holds you tight. . ."
-- Mandy Moore, "I Wanna Be With You"